


Nobody's Business

by Everyday_Im_Narrating



Series: Easy as one, two, three [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, lots and lots of fluff, scileson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:03:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8193028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyday_Im_Narrating/pseuds/Everyday_Im_Narrating
Summary: At the age of four, Scott was sure he would marry his best friend.At sixteen, he met a wonderful girl who turned his world around.At twenty, he discovered there were many different ways to fall in love.





	

It wasn’t always easy for Scott.

At the age of four, he knew three things: his mom was the coolest grownup in the world, Pokemon was better than Digimon, and he was going to marry Stiles one day. In fact, more than once he made Play-Doh rings - blue and purple and green - and asked Stiles to marry him, which sent them both into fits of giggles. (He thought that for a wedding to count, one of the people had to wear all white; the day he walked by a store with his mom and saw an entirely white suit on the window, he couldn’t wait to go home and tell Stiles it was a thing.)

As they grew up, Stiles got it in his head that he was in love with Lydia Martin. Which Scott understood - Lydia was a little mean sometimes, but she was pretty and smart and a leader, and always threw the most amazing birthday parties. And when Stiles liked something (someone), he wasn’t content with just _liking_ them; sooner or later it became kind of an obsession, and there was no denying he got a little creepy sometimes.

Scott wouldn’t say anything, though. Half because it could be interpreted as him just being jealous, and half because he totally was. They were eight now, and make-believe marriage proposals weren’t a thing anymore; what they did was sit together and play video games and go on adventures all over town. It was great, it was, even though Stiles was becoming a little more abrasive, a little more bitter, his energy out of control. Sometimes it hurt. A lot of the songs his mom liked to play had lyrics that said love was painful, so Scott just accepted that to be true; it had no reason not to be. It hurt a little when Stiles talked about Lydia like she was the whole sky. It hurt a lot more when he got angry for one reason or another and spat out the same words that Jackson used against them, the ones Stiles would fearlessly defend him from when he wasn’t the one saying them. He rarely said sorry, but Scott forgave him anyway, because if you love someone you’re supposed to forgive them. Most of the words were probably true, anyway.

During sleepovers, more often than not, they ended up sharing the bed. By now they were old enough to know not to tell anyone to avoid being made fun of, even though there was nothing funny about how they would start the night on opposite sides of the bed and gravitate towards each other, waking up with their legs all tangled, happy and safe and warm. When Scott woke up first, he’d pretend to be asleep just to enjoy some more of Stiles being soft and cuddly with his face tucked into Scott’s neck; when Stiles woke up first, he’d go downstairs and grab them cereal and juice boxes. Home was two places: the house he lived in with his mom, and Stiles’ house, where the Sheriff would call them both ‘son’ and the closet in Stiles’ room was about half Scott’s. They had a bit of a size difference, sure, but most of their clothes (and space, and school supplies, and books and toys and lives) were shared; Stiles often smiled big at him and called him his brother. Not bro, _brother_. As in _family_. It made Scott’s chest all kinds of warm.

At thirteen, they weren’t little kids anymore. The death of Stiles’ mom - and the turbulent three years that preceded it - took a huge toll on him, made him sharper around the edges but raw and vulnerable at the core, a side that only Scott ever got to see. By now, the things that Scott felt for Stiles - things too heavy and complicated to put into words, he decided - had taken a seat in the back, still burning low at the very bottom of his heart, but softer now. Subtler. If he tried just a little, he could pretend it didn’t exist. Their fights became less frequent, but harsher; Stiles would hurl words at him in a way that almost made him think he _meant_ for them to cut deep, in a way that almost sounded like a question (“when am I going to be too much for you?”), which in Scott’s mind always translated to “you fucked up, you fucked up, you’re no good”. It was crazy, because minutes later Stiles would be throwing an arm around his shoulders and talking to him about lacrosse and Lydia and music as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, while Scott was still trying to figure out how to walk on eggshells while pretending they were hardwood floors. (He tripped a lot.)

He didn’t resent Stiles. Maybe he should. But when Stiles threatened their bullies, or pulled out a spare inhaler from his bag whenever Scott forgot his, or just lit up like he had seen a goddamn double rainbow just from Scott telling him he’d achieved something he really wanted… Well. It was hard to be mad. He loved Stiles, Stiles loved him. Brothers. Brothers fought and made up and stood by each other’s side no matter what.

Thirteen is also a time for hormones, and Scott fully convinced himself that there was nothing wrong with picturing Stiles’ face on some of the naked boys he looked at online. It wasn’t always Stiles; sometimes it was Jackson or Isaac or Danny or Boyd, and sometimes the girls turned into Lydia or Erica, but his best friend was definitely up for most frequent. It was okay. It was normal! Really, it wasn’t Scott’s fault that he went to school with so many good-looking teenagers. Hell, he and Stiles even watched porn together a few times. It just turned into awkward boners and a lot of laughter. No big deal at all.

He was sixteen when he met Allison, and his world turned upside down.

Allison was filled to the brim with energy, in a different way than Stiles but just as exciting; she touched him gently and often, and made him laugh, and did several different funny things with his heart. It was so weird. He’d had crushes before, but every time he and Allison were together, he felt warm and fluttery and excited and really nervous, and he wanted to live in that feeling. When she kissed him, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face, or get his heart to stop pounding. Intimacy and trust came easily between them, and soon enough there was nowhere Scott felt safer than right next to her.

Pardon. Right next to her _and Stiles_.

Which was normal! Stiles was his best friend. Of course he felt the safest when he was around too.

Along with Allison came his first sexual experiences, a lot of them. It was fun, and much more intense than he had anticipated, which he could tell was entirely mutual. She initiated a lot of it, but never failed to treat him with respect when it came to his body and the things that were and weren’t okay, even if he had trouble putting them in words sometimes; her assertiveness when it came to her own desires never crossed the line over to actually putting pressure on him to make them come true. Sometimes, her hands would come up to his face and cup it like he was something to be treasured. Sometimes they grabbed onto him so hard, there would be indents on his skin from her fingernails later on. He loved it both ways and every way in between.

They had their misunderstandings, small bickering matches over unimportant things, like every couple. Actual fights, however, didn’t appear until they were a year into their relationship, nearing the end of high school. Their communication had been getting poorer and poorer, both of them stressed out over college applications and finals, and Scott really did mess up. He did. He was aware of that. So when an angry Allison narrowed her eyes at him, he was fully expecting her to yell, to call him names.

What he got instead was a quiet “I can’t believe you”, in a voice that sounded like Allison was having an incredibly hard time holding back her words - a voice that made him want to listen, made him want to tell her to just let it out. Repressing anger was never good (even if he repressed most of his feelings, most of the time). She didn’t have to go easy on him just because she loved him; he could take it.

Silence hurt a lot worse than yelling, he discovered. And Allison’s silence lasted. The first time they had a bad fight, she said she was too pissed off to talk about it and went home, leaving Scott with an empty, panicky kind of tug in his chest. She was going to give up. Scott had hurt her and she was going to give up and it was all his fault. Every buzz of his phone startled him that night, and when he saw her the next morning, it looked like she had gotten as little sleep as him.

She still didn’t yell that day, either. Now, calmer, she sat next to him at lunch and they talked about what went wrong, what should have happened instead. When the conversation was over, she wrapped him up in a tight hug and kissed him sweetly, slowly, so tender he got dizzy.

Her silences were scarier than Stiles’ insults, but with her, there was always an acknowledgement of the fight itself. No eggshells to be walked on afterwards. The closer he and Allison became, the more he caught himself making this kind of comparison in his mind, as if she and Stiles occupied the same space in his heart instead of both having different, equally fundamental roles.

Stiles was better at cheering him up; Allison was better at letting him process bad news and bad days in his own time. Likewise, Stiles accepted his help much more readily than Allison did. She was perfect company for outdoorsy things, while Stiles would constantly bitch about bugs and the weather; Stiles could hang out for hours watching movies or playing games, while Allison got bored quickly. Stiles remembered his favorite flavors and types of everything, like a Scott McCall Handler’s Manual. Allison remembered anniversaries and birthdays and special occasions and never failed to celebrate them at least a little bit.

They both protected him fiercely. He tried to do the same for them, tried to deserve it and to make them proud.

What surprised Scott most of all was how effortlessly Allison and Stiles got along. He’d been worried at first - Stiles was mouthy, Allison held grudges, it wasn’t a pretty combination - but after the initial jealousy from Stiles, which he had to admit was kind of adorable, they’d become great friends. The kind that were perfectly happy to hang out together, with or without Scott, and always gravitated towards each other at parties. Sure, their friendship was something quite explosive at times - their fights a combination of insults and cold silence, both of them brooding intensely while pretending not to brood afterwards - but mostly their combined energy was something beautiful to be seen. Scott had a little trouble keeping up, honestly.

Everything was pretty perfect until right after college, when Scott suggested the three of them move into an apartment together.

Their routine was fast-paced but mostly harmonic. Scott was the only one who preferred to shower in the morning instead of the evening, so there wasn’t much debate about hogging the bathroom; each of them took turns cooking and doing chores, and everyone coexisted in peace. For the most part. Of course there was a lot of stress, as there usually is with any three people who live together, but they were able to resolve it fairly quickly and without anyone wanting to kill the other two. (Much.)

The most peaceful moments were oddly the most troubling ones for Scott.

The moments where he’d come home late at night, exhausted from a long day at work, and find Stiles asleep on the couch with his head on Allison’s lap, while she would greet him with the brightest, sleepiest little grin. Or when he said good morning to Allison at the breakfast table with a quick, jam-flavored kiss, and Stiles would jokingly pucker up, and Scott almost, almost leaned in.

He loved Allison. He loved her in ways and amounts he couldn’t put into words, but Stiles… Stiles had been there since day one. They’d been through everything together, and at the end of the day, Stiles was just as special. It felt wrong. A person shouldn’t love more than one other, not romantically, not in the way that has you stupidly daydreaming about kissing them with passion and holding them with the tenderness they deserve. That was one person for him. Allison. Not Stiles. Stiles was his _brother_. He was mixing things up in his brain.

He would have gladly swallowed his feelings down for as long as he had to. To avoid messing with anything good, even if he felt more and more guilty every time he thought about Stiles in a much sweeter way than was probably appropriate. Even if his jealousy flared up when Stiles and Allison seemed almost as close as him and her. But a year into their life in the new apartment, there was a group trip to the beach, which came along with regrettable sunburns, drinking games, and that one night he and Isaac stayed awake after everyone else had gone to bed.

Isaac, as it turned out, had noticed a lot of things Scott thought were well hidden. Things like, in his own words, how Scott would look at Stiles “like he hung the goddamn moon”. Or how Stiles - surprisingly enough - did the exact same thing, only with Scott and Allison, with an added layer of confusion to his marvelling. Or how he had caught Allison’s cheeks turning hot pink whenever Stiles jokingly winked at her.

Scott asked him what this all meant. Isaac immediately pulled out his phone in response, and after a long Google search and several patient explanations, Scott’s heart began to flutter.

It was possible.

He could have this.

If Allison and Stiles both agreed, it could happen. The three of them. It wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t bad or sick or weird. People did it and _they were happy doing it_.

It still took him two weeks to talk to them, but for these two weeks, there wasn’t much else on his mind. He thought about it in the shower and when he went to sleep and when the three of them sat together to have dinner. He thought about it when he did the dishes and cooked and went to work. And he thought about it that night when they sat together to watch TV, Scott in the middle, and Allison’s head was resting on his shoulder, and Stiles’ thigh was pressed right against his, and the words just tumbled out of his mouth like they had a mind of their own.

Scott froze. It had come out so messy and jumbled, and he hadn’t wanted it to be this way at all. He was going to talk to Allison first, make sure she was okay with it - he had made a commitment with her first, after all - before he even suggested it to Stiles. But there it was, out in the open, and for the several quiet seconds that followed, Scott kind of felt like he was going to die. Or throw up. Or start crying. Or maybe all three.

And then Allison said yes.

Then Stiles said yes too.

Of course there’d be a lot to discuss later. There’d be negotiations and difficult but important issues they needed to tackle, and maybe a lot of arguments, knowing the three of them. But that was all for later, and for now, he allowed himself to just be entirely happy. To fully enjoy the bright, excited, slightly nervous smiles on the faces of the two people he loved most in the world, matching his own.

Scott wasn’t quite sure who started it, but in a few seconds, they were all enveloped in a tight tackle-hug, laughing like children, and maybe he _did_ cry a little, _sue him_. It was an emotional moment. So was leaning in closer to Stiles, and finally - without guilt, with Allison’s soothing hand at the small of his back - claiming his lips in a tentative, electric little kiss that had his head spinning. He could physically feel Stiles’ body vibrating with nerves and excitement next to him, and when Allison cupped his best friend’s face and brought him close, it was all more giggling than actual kiss. Absolutely perfect.

That night was full of discoveries, the best kind. He discovered how lovely it was to properly snuggle up with both Allison and Stiles, arms all around each other, legs on laps in a wonderful mess. And how sweetly Allison kissed his shoulder while Stiles took his lips, how absolutely gorgeous they looked as they went at each other with a fierceness that Scott hadn’t been expecting.

Most of all, though, he discovered that his best friend (boyfriend?) and his girlfriend (best friend?) could, in fact, occupy the same space in his heart (all of it). They could be ridiculously, fairytale-happy, if they just figured out how to peacefully accommodate their three distinct personalities into a whole new dynamic.

And if he started looking at white suits and dresses online, well. That was really nobody’s business.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
